


Save a Horse, Ride a Circus Boy

by SuspiciousPenguin



Series: The Bird Nerds and the Bee's Knees [9]
Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton is Midwest Trash, Deaf, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Horseback Riding, Horses, Hurt Clint Barton, Hydra (Marvel), SHIELD, Strike Team Delta, power broker inc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5984683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuspiciousPenguin/pseuds/SuspiciousPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Nat are on a mission in Australia, where they have to go enter a horse show undercover. The catch? Clint went and got himself too banged up to ride. Looks like it's up to Natasha to take the reins on this one.</p><p>Mentioned Clint/Kate. Minor descriptions of injuries and a fight. Can be read as a standalone piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save a Horse, Ride a Circus Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone!! I am so sorry that this took so long to get out to you all. Please forgive me for the lack of Hawkeye Squared goodness in this fic, but it will return in the next one :) I hope to have that one out to you within the next week. I've missed you guys and this series so much, and it feels great to be writing it again! Now, this is my first-ever fight scene, so please be gentle :P But all comments, questions, concerns, critiques, etc etc are always appreciated!!
> 
> Shout-out to Tiana for answering my horse-related questions and to Bella for naming the horse, coming up with the title, helping me figure out what Clint did to himself... Basically, Bella is this fic's Jesus. Major thanks to Bella. Enjoy!

In the ten years that Natasha had been Clint’s partner, she had learned three bizarrely specific things about working with him.

 

The first thing that she had learned was that, even though Clint had no real authority within S.H.I.E.L.D. and was under surveillance by the higher-ups more often than not, he somehow managed to be able to have some say in how, exactly, they would travel on every mission. This often meant going through some Midwestern city or another, and no one could figure out how he could convince everyone to stop at some greasy, cheesy food joint while there. Every single time.

 

The second thing that Nat had learned was to always bring a body pillow on missions. At first glance, this may seem more like a personal preference based on comfort than a hard and fast necessity, but Clint’s sleep-cuddling was famously unparalleled. After he woke up to Nat’s fist in his face one too many times, the body pillow was found to be an acceptable substitute, meaning no more broken noses on missions… At least, none from Nat.

 

The third thing that Nat had discovered was the most critical. It was the reason why no other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had stuck around as his partner for as long as she had. None of them were adequately prepared to deal with this final thing. The most important thing that she had learned while working with Clint was that, no matter how meticulously the plan had been set, no matter how foolproof it was, no matter how many backup options they had in place… Clint would manage to get himself into situations that would shatter the plan entirely and force the pair to think on their feet.

 

The way this mission was going so far, Nat thought, sitting on the back of a very large and very eager horse while Clint balanced on one leg and yelled directions at her, all of these lessons had been proven correct once again.

 

It had begun as a normal, routine mission. Well, normal and routine for S.H.I.E.L.D., anyway. Some intel had found its way into Fury’s hands stating that Hydra agents were using a horse show in Australia as a cover to work out some kind of partnership with Power Broker regarding their Hench app. Completely run-of-the-mill. Strike Team Delta’s job was to sneak in undercover, report back to S.H.I.E.L.D. on the meeting, and intercept if necessary.

 

Clint, eyes glowing bright, had eagerly offered to go undercover as a competitor named Kennedy Marsh. He missed riding horses, he said. He could do this in his sleep. He had literally ridden throughout his entire childhood. Nat was to be his fiancée, Cyril Laroche, whom he would marry in the summer. This meant that they would probably have to flirt and show copious amounts of affection, maybe even lock lips a little bit. Clint was worried at first that Kate would be mad, but they were all professionals. Kate knew that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were just friends. She wasn’t about to get jealous over a cover.

 

Speaking of the other Hawkeye, Nat couldn’t help but feel that it was partially the younger woman’s fault that they were in this situation. On the first full day that they were overseas, Clint had been leading his borrowed horse to do some light practicing when he pulled out his phone to respond to a text from Kate. He was distracted enough by whatever was in that message to not notice that they were walking a little too close to the barn door. It slammed closed, scaring the horse witless. Clint was stroking the horse and attempting to calm it down until there was a pop and suddenly he wasn’t. The horse, now free from Clint’s restraint, ran from the offending piece of architecture as Nat dropped to her knees to attend to her partner, who was currently lying on the ground and grasping at his knee. One trip to a local medical center later, and it turned out that Clint had sprained his MCL, leaving him in a knee brace and unable to ride for the next week or so. He was a little banged up but otherwise alright.

 

This left Nat to ride in the competition and keep their cover. The obvious issues with this plan were easily remedied: the pair always brought along two sets of fake IDs and made sure to use gender-neutral names as their code names so they could easily switch, and the competition didn’t officially start until tomorrow. The S.H.I.E.L.D. hackers had already gone in and changed the basic information in the show’s system to reflect the new rider. Those were all just slight snags in the plan. No, gaping, ugly snarl that they were now facing was the very egregiously overlooked fact that Natasha Romanoff had apparently never learned how to ride a horse.

 

So that left them here: Nat on top of a horse, stomach still queasy from their _‘delicious’_ Chicagoan leftovers and Clint standing in the center of the arena with his weight on one leg, shouting corrections, the stitch lines from Nat’s pillow still etched into his cheek. It was a less than ideal situation.

 

“Okay, that was better.” Clint nodded in encouragement. “You’re doing great. But he knows you’re nervous. And keep your heels down.”

 

Nat scoffed. “I do not get nervous,” she insisted, cautiously placing the reins in her lap and signing as she spoke. “I am in control always.”

 

“Okay, first, don’t let go of your reins. That’s dangerous.” Clint scolded. ”You can get really hurt if Can-Can gets spooked again. And second, that’s not what he’s telling me.” The archer was lucky they were such good friends; no one else would be able to call Natasha out like that and get away with it.

 

“The horse is just an animal,” Nat informed Clint as she steered in closer. “It knows I’m the one in charge.”

 

Clint held out his hand, signaling for Nat to stop. He took a rein and looked up at his partner. “That’s why you’re not getting it. You’re nervous because you’re not listening to him, and he can tell. You try ‘n take a jump like that? You’re gonna be on the ground on the wrong side of the fence, staring up at the sky.”

 

“Lucky for me, I’m not jumping.” Nat looked Clint straight in the eyes. “Will you sit down? I can’t have my fiancé completely broken.”

 

Clint sighed and looked at the swivel stool in the center of the arena. “You’d have to stop talking to me.”

 

Nat’s nostrils flared for a split second. “And why should-“ It clicked. “Your hearing aids. They don’t help?”

 

Clint fiddled with the hard, flesh-colored plastic behind his ear. He _hated_ wearing the less-conspicuous _‘undercover’_ model, but he understood how the conspicuousness of the bright purple ones that he preferred could be detrimental to spy work. “They’re not magic, Nat. It just makes everything a little louder. Are you ready to get back out there? You only have a couple a’ days.”

 

“Aren’t you glad we talked you out of vaulting?” Nat teased. Watching to make sure that Clint took his seat, she tapped her heels against the horse’s side and walked off.

 

“Let’s start with the poles again,” Clint called out to her back. “And get your heels down!”

 

* * *

 

 

Strike Team Delta spent the next day and a half training whenever they could. They checked into the competition, with Nat now posing as Kennedy and Clint as Cyril, and sat through the opening ceremonies without any problems. They both kept an eye out for the Hydra and Power Broker guys but saw little activity that was of interest. While the judges were going over Can-Can in a preliminary inspection, Clint snooped around and eavesdropped as much as he could. This would have been _much_ easier if they could follow the original plan and leave the snooping to Nat. The second that the inspection was over, the blonde and the redhead disappeared to continue drilling.

 

“I hate being hurt,” Clint complained in the rental car on the way back to their hotel. “I want to stretch my legs.”

 

“Stop whining.” Nat responded. “You insisted we fly commercial. You could have stretched your legs the whole way here.”

 

Clint rolled his head back to rest on the seat. “You don’t think coming here on a helicarrier would’ve been suspicious? I was just looking to keep our cover.”

 

“You’re a saint,” Natasha deadpanned. “And it just happened that we landed in two Midwest cities and LA before we arrived.”

 

“I know; we got lucky,” Clint smirked back. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like the Swedish pancakes. Or the pizza.”

 

“I can still taste them.” Nat rolled her eyes and resumed driving. They continued in silence for a few moments until she poked Clint in the side, claiming his attention. “You see that truck?”

 

Clint’s eyes followed Nat’s line of vision. He knew instantly which truck she was talking about. “Not very subtle, are they?”

 

“Well, if you’re trying to get sales, you have to put your name out there.” She pulled over into the next lane and drove up so they were right next to the big, bright, obvious truck that had “Power Broker, Inc.” painted on it in huge letters. “You have your tracking arrows?”

 

“Natasha, please.” Clint reached into his pocket to pull out a small device. “Arrows aren’t the answer to everything.” He rolled down his window, aimed, and carefully threw the tiny device toward the truck. It magnetized itself to the side near the tire, where it was unlikely to be seen. “Boom. Easy.” He raised his hand for a high five, and they continued off on their way to the hotel.

 

* * *

 

Another intense day of training broken up by bouts of tracking the truck, and it was Nat’s day to ride. She adamantly refused to admit her nerves and rode on with jaw set and gaze fierce. The ride was going alright. It was nothing spectacular, but she wasn’t completely failing either. Everything went roughly as expected until she and Can-Can approached the final obstacle: the fake bridge. They were just trotting up to it when an explosion sounded from somewhere behind the audience, who scattered instantly in a panicked attempt at self-preservation.

 

The horse spooked, neighing and bolting in the opposite direction of the offending noise. Nat instinctively pulled back on the reins to try to get him to stop. The spy wracked her brain to find the piece of advice that Clint had given her in case of just such an event. She eased up on one of the reins, hoping this was correct, and attempted to steer the horse in a circle. It wasn’t helping. An inexplicable sense of peace over the lack of control she had in this situation was starting to creep over her. That was a very bad sign indeed. It was looking like she was going to have to emergency dismount and throw herself to the ground, but before she could act further, she felt a sudden tug on the rein that knocked it right out of her hand.

 

The horse had somehow managed to head almost directly toward Clint. The archer had hobbled over to intercept the horse and yank on the reins with all his might. He was caught up in the momentum and pulled in with a deeply pained groan. It had worked, though, and the horse was now slowing down. Nat dismounted as quickly as she could, getting down to the ground to tend to her partner for the second time in the past four days.

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Clint hissed, clutching his injured knee to his chest, his face ghost-pale. “Go find out what that was. I’ll be fine.”

 

Nat nodded sharply. She knew that Clint could take care of himself if he needed to, and he knew that she would stay and help him if she wasn’t needed elsewhere. She leaned down and gave him a soft kiss. “I love you, Cyril.” She smiled gently and ran toward the source of the commotion.

 

Nat had no sooner reached the edge of the arena closest to the parking lot than she realized what the source of the explosion was: the very same truck that she and Clint had tagged the day before. The tracer was still attached to the side. She felt her stomach drop, but she quickly steeled herself and prepared for a fight. She could feel guilty later.

 

What was left of the truck was still burning, trapping a couple of people in Power Broker uniforms underneath. Hydra goons and Power Broker lackeys were grappling in the parking lot, knocking people around left and right. A tall, sinister-looking man was arguing loudly with another man who seemed to be in charge of the Power Broker team, although the latter looked significantly less confident than the former.

 

“You were double-crossing us.” The first man insisted. “There was S.H.I.E.L.D. technology on your truck, and you led them right to us. Hydra does not take kindly to traitors.”

 

“I didn’t know it was there,” the Power Broker man tried in vain to appease the other. “In fact, who’s to say you didn’t just put that on there now so you could back out of your end of the deal?”

 

The man from Hydra struck the Power Broker leader, knocking him effortlessly to the ground. Nat pushed through the smoldering wreckage to leap and kick the man from Hydra in the side, stunning him for a moment as he caught his breath. “You wretch!” He gasped. “Who are you?”

 

Nat put on her best farmgirl voice and answered as sweetly as she could manage. “No one you should be concerned about, really.” Her smile dripped saccharine, and she held it for a second before leaping on top of him to continue the tussle.

 

The Power Broker guy had now gotten himself up off of the ground and grabbed Nat’s shoulder to force her to turn away from the Hydra leader. He landed a punch square to her cheek before she was able to knock him off-balance. She rolled on top of him, regaining her leverage, and turned her head to spit out some blood.

 

She wrestled with the man for what felt like not even a full second before the Hydra boss was in the middle of it again. She held the Power Broker leader down by his shoulders and flipped herself up and over, landing her heel against the Hydra boss’ jaw. He was propelled backwards, leaving Nat just enough time to land on her feet and get back into a fighting stance before he came at her again. He barreled into her midsection, lifting her off the ground with her upper body draped over his shoulder. She watched the Power Broker man skitter away with most of his lackeys (it seemed that they were all better businessmen than they were fighters) as she pulled a stun pen from her pocket and stabbed it into the Hydra boss’ neck. He went down, and she landed in a crouch.

 

A couple dozen Hydra goons were on top of her before she even had time to stand. She swept her leg around in a wide circle, felling a few of them, and popped up with stun pen blazing to take care of the rest. She tossed goon after goon onto the ground, knocking out a few of them and misdirecting several others so that they became trapped in the still-burning wreckage. The Hydra boss jumped at Nat from behind, and she crouched down immediately to change their shared center of gravity. He flipped over her head, landing hard on the ground in front of her, and it was only a few seconds before she was able to sit on his chest and get a pair of handcuffs on him.

 

Nat paused to catch her breath, smiling proudly to herself as a S.H.I.E.L.D. jet touched down in an open clearing close by. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents poured out, some arresting the goons and lackeys who were still there, some furiously documenting everything, and a few heading directly toward Nat. “I caught him, sir,” she stood as they approached, gesturing toward the Hydra boss laying on the ground in front of her.

 

Fury nodded and allowed his agents to take the man away. “Where’s your fiancée?”

 

“At the med tent, if he’s smart.” Nat looked her superior directly in the eye. “He stopped my horse for me.”

 

“Ms. Marsh?” A faux-cheerful voice came from off to the side. “My name is Linda Dobbs; I’m on the committee for the show? If we could have a word for a second, that would be lovely.”

 

“Are you giving me my scores?” Nat joked, slipping back into her faux farmgirl voice. She wiped some blood away from her mouth with the back of her hand.

 

Ms. Dobbs clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “No, dear, see, you’re disqualified. We have a zero-tolerance policy for violence.”

 

Nat opened her mouth to dissent, but Fury stepped in. “She understands, Ms. Dobbs. She’s just going to find her fiancée and leave.”

 

“Wonderful. If you’re not out in ten minutes, I will have to have security escort you out.” Ms. Dobbs smiled her cheery, fake grin at the pair. “You have a lovely rest of your week, and thank you for coming out to compete.”

 

Her heels clicked on the asphalt as she left the scene.

 

* * *

 

“Another tear?” Nat asked, rubbing her thumb in a circle on her partner’s back.

 

Clint nodded and winced as he shifted positions. “Four to six weeks on crutches before I can even use the brace again. Physical therapy three times a week. And I’m still on blues watch, so they won’t even give me the good painkillers.”

 

Nat moved her hand to rub his back harder. “At least it was the same leg,” she offered. “And at least we get to fly home in here instead of crammed into a commercial plane.”

 

Clint nodded, leaning into her touch and resting his head on her shoulder. He could feel the vibrations from her chest as her strangely soothing Russian accent lulled him into a sense of security. “You’re the best work wife I coulda’ asked for,” he murmured.

 

“I know, Clint,” she reached up to stroke his hair. “And you’re a pretty good work husband.” She paused and hummed in thought. “Most of the time.”

 

“Think we can get the pilot to stop and let us get a Butterburger?” Clint asked hopefully. “I mean, I’m in pain, and it would help me forget about it, right?”

 

Nat shook her head and laughed softly. “ _You’re_ a pain in my behind,” she teased, ruffling his hair. “Come on, let’s get you lying down. I’ll wake you when we’re in Iowa.”

 

“That sounds great,” Clint yawned. Nat helped him up and into one of the beds on the ship. She handed him the body pillow and smoothed the blankets over his torso. “G’night, Nat.” He called, his voice already slurred with imminent sleep.

 

“Good night, Clint,” she smiled. “Sleep well. And one more thing.”

 

“Hmm?” Clint replied, quickly losing the fight against sleep.

 

Nat smirked. “Stop trying to die on these missions. Your girlfriend and I would miss you.”

 

“Love you too, work wife,” Clint mumbled, almost unintelligibly.

 

Nat allowed herself a warm smile as she turned out the lights and left Clint to sleep until they reached the Midwest.


End file.
